The Deathly Hullos
by Luuuurve
Summary: Sequel to The Bodyguard. Voldemort's vanquished and Harry's life is nearly perfect. Until horrifying changes come over his beloved and something magical starts massacring Muggles. HP/DM slash, AU after HBP.
1. Prologue: Wizard Baiting

_**Author's Notes:**_

_So here we go again! The warning I used for the The Bodyguard applies here too._

_Warning, this slash fanfic contains plot. Lots of plot. To the extent that Harry and Draco don't even appear in the prologue. (Okay, they appear and they're nearly naked. But only in a photo.)_

_The presence of plot may or may not render The Deathly Hullos suitable for your slashy needs. For it is a truth universally acknowledged, that occasionally, or perhaps all the time, the keen slash reader must be in want of porn without plot. (Who hasn't scrolled their way through the chapters of a long slash fic thinking, "Come on, where's the sex?") For your plot-avoiding convenience, look out for the chapters subtitled "Shagging" or "BJ". The slashy goodness is concentrated there._

_This fic is AU after Half-Blood Prince, and it won't make much sense unless you read The Bodyguard first. It probably won't make much sense even then. ;-)_

_**Disclaimer:**__ The Harry Potter universe used in this fanfic is copyright J.K. Rowling._

oOoOoOo

_**The Deathly Hullos**_

_**By**_

_**Luuuurve**_

_**Prologue: Wizard Baiting**_

By a busy London road, one sunny lunchtime in August, three men wearing white overalls, thick gloves and rubber waders were setting out orange plastic barriers around an open manhole. In another hour, two of them would be dead, but they did not know.

All they knew was that a grinning old man, wearing a blue and white gingham dress and a bowler hat, was pole dancing around a traffic light, in front of the record store and big bookshop across the road. Soberly business-suited pedestrians were stopping to stare and tut-tut in disgust. Cars honked. But the old man seemed too happily drunk to notice. His skirt rode up as he swung around the pole, revealing hairy legs and hobnail boots.

Owen, the youngest of the three men in overalls, leaned on a barrier and watched the old man with amusement. "I wonder what he's advertising? It's big news, whatever it is. He's the twentieth weirdo I've seen over there since we started setting up." Owen turned to grin at his colleagues. But his face fell when he saw their stony expressions.

"Just ignore him," said Jimmy coldly, tucking a greying lock of hair behind his ear. He pushed a barrier into place with a sideways glance that suggested Owen should be working harder.

"Thames Water isn't paying us by the hour," said Kev, in his usual bossy tone. But underneath his freckles he was pale, Owen noted. Both Kev and Jimmy had their backs turned towards the spectacle across the road. They didn't so much as glance around, when there was a small explosion from somewhere behind the shops, and shimmering shooting stars shot into the air.

Owen eyed them both suspiciously. "That's what you keep saying today. You said it when we nearly ran over that flock of trained owls carrying envelopes this morning. Then again when we saw that group of men in dresses whispering to each other outside the National Gallery. Everyone else was laughing, but you two drove off like they were escaped criminals."

Jimmy shouldered his pickaxe. He and Kev glanced at each other, but said nothing.

"What's going on today? " said Owen in frustration. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you two were afraid-"

"Yoo hoo!" An ancient quavery voice cut him off. The old man in a dress was waving a folded newspaper at them.

Jimmy and Kev flinched in alarm, and Owen was more certain than ever that they were afraid. His curiosity was piqued. He couldn't see anything remotely scary about the old man.

"I do so love your disguises. No one's even looking at you!" The old man shouted. Then he seemed to realise, for the first time, that everyone was staring at him. Even more so, now he'd mentioned disguises. He clapped his hand to his mouth and giggled.

Owen smiled and raised his hand to beckon the old man over, only to have it roughly shoved down.

"Don't talk to him," Jimmy hissed. His hand was clenched so tightly around Owen's forearm that it hurt.

Owen yanked his arm away and turned his back on the old man. "What's your problem, Jimmy? Lighten up, he's a harmless madman."

"He's not harmless. None of HIS lot are," said Jimmy. He was making an effort to keep the old man from overhearing.

"HIS lot?" Owen mimicked in the same low voice. "Who are his lot?"

Jimmy opened his mouth, but closed it again when Kev stepped closer.

"Don't tell him, Jimmy. He's only been working for Thames Water for six months." Kev pointed at the open manhole. "He hasn't even been down Middle Level Sewer Number One yet."

"What's down there?" asked Owen. "What's a sewer got to do with men in dresses?"

Jimmy and Kev looked at each other and hesitated. While they were hesitating, the old man shouted out again.

"I say! You three don't look like you're celebrating. Haven't you heard the news?" The confusion in the old man's voice turned to disappointment. "You're not ... Muggles, are you?"

Owen didn't know what a Muggle was, but he was certain he couldn't be one. The word sounded silly. With a cheeky grin at his colleagues, he turned and cupped one hand to the side of his mouth, so he'd be heard across the road. "We're not Muggles, we're flushers," he shouted, pointing at his waders and expecting the old man to understand. "Why don't you come over and tell me the news?" He heard two shocked intakes of breath behind him, and jabbed his thumb back over shoulder. "These two know what's going on, but they won't tell me."

The man in a dress clapped his hand to his face and shrieked. "You don't know? No wonder you're not celebrating!" He took a deep breath, as if to shout out something important. Then he glanced around at people watching him and appeared to think better of it. "Wait a sec, I'll nip over and tell you!"

Owen turned to give his colleagues a triumphant grin. But a squeal of brakes made him whirl back around.

Oblivious to the heavy traffic, the old man had stepped out into the road. A truck had barely missed him, and the driver was now shaking his tattooed fist out of the window and bellowing curses.

The man in a dress acted as if nothing had happened. He weaved unsteadily past the truck and more vehicles had to slam on their brakes as he tottered in front of them. The sound of horns and yells was deafening.

Fearing the man would be run over at any moment, Owen averted his eyes. He felt Kev elbow him in the ribs.

"What have you done?" Kev muttered in his ear.

"These freaks are dangerous," Jimmy muttered in his other ear.

"You're both having me on," said Owen, with a puzzled laugh.

"Play along with him, no matter what he says," said Jimmy.

"Why?"

"He could kill us all," said Jimmy fiercely. "Or worse!"

Owen was about to reply, when the man in a dress hopped up on the curb beside him. Jimmy and Kev took a giant step backwards away from him, and teetered on the edge of the manhole.

But Owen was furious. Disregarding Jimmy's warning, which he hadn't taken seriously anyway, he said, "What do you think you were doing? You nearly got yourself killed!"

The man in a dress waved his hand airily. "Not a chance! My Protego could stop a dragon." He held out his right hand. "I don't think we've met. My name is Loquacis Dolt. I'm helping out in Mr Ollivander's wand shop this year."

Aware of Jimmy and Kev glaring at him, Owen removed his glove, extended his right hand and introduced himself.

Dolt shook the proffered hand heartily. Then he offered his hand to the other two. They introduced themselves in mutters and shook his hand as though it might explode. Neither of them took their gloves off.

Dolt seemed too drunk to notice their rudeness bordering on abject terror. "If we're going to chat, we should find somewhere a bit more private," he said thickly. He looked around at the passing cars, every occupant craning their heads towards him, and then he turned back and winked. "Can't have them overhearing the good news, can we? I've been in trouble about that before. I tend to get chatty after a few drinks." He broke off to giggle, then he mastered himself and pointed at the manhole. "How about we talk down there?"

Looking daggers at Owen, Jimmy and Kev climbed reluctantly down the ladder. Jimmy's hand was clenched around his pickaxe, as if he planned to use it for self-defence.

Owen followed them down, but yelped in horror as a gingham skirt engulfed him from above. Dolt had started climbing down too soon. Freeing himself from the suffocating fabric with a wave of his arm, Owen let himself drop the last few feet to the floor. His waders splashed.

"Sorry about that," said Dolt, pausing halfway down the ladder. "I usually stick with knee-length. Don't you? FAR healthier. Well, this is a nice tunnel, isn't it?" he added conversationally, turning his head to take in the curved red brick walls, twice as high as a man, and extending into the darkness in either direction. Murky, shin-deep water ran along the bottom. The only source of light was the hole above.

"Middle Level Sewer Number One," said Jimmy. "Goes all the way to Beckton. Twenty miles away." He and Kev were huddled together, with their backs pressed against the opposite wall. They looked ready to sprint to Beckton to get away from Dolt.

"Fascinating!" said Dolt. He took a precarious seat on the middle rung of the ladder. "I hope you don't mind if I stay up here. It looks a little wet down there. As the wizard said to the mermaid, ha ha!"

Jimmy and Kev grinned weakly, though their grins looked more like frightened leers.

"So you work at a wand shop?" Owen piped up. He assumed that Dolt meant a toyshop. "I made my little sister a wand once."

Dolt turned to him and his eyes widened in awe. "You did? Most remarkable!"

"It had a pink glittery star on top," said Owen and grinned, though Jimmy and Kev looked at him warningly.

Dolt's eyes popped. "Ooh! Could you make me one too?"

Owen hadn't expected that. Jimmy and Kev's faces froze, and he was certain that they were trying not to laugh and offend Dolt. He wondered again how they could possibly find this madman frightening. "YOU want a wand with a pink glittery star on top?" he asked, with an incredulous chuckle.

"Of course!" Dolt seemed deadly serious. He reached into the bodice of his dress and drew out a short, floppy stick. "The wands Mr Ollivander makes are SO plain." He sighed, then his eyes brightened and he thrust the stick back into his non-existent cleavage. "Have you ever thought of going into business? Gilderoy Lockhart's fans would buy a dragon-load of wands with pink glittery stars on top."

"Um, no, I've already got a job," said Owen, averting his eyes from Jimmy and Kev's glares and wondering if he'd still have one when the day was over. He made an effort to get the conversation back on track. "You were going to tell me the news?"

"Yes!" Dolt waved his folded newspaper. "You-Know-Who is dead!" To Owen's amusement, he added, "Again!"

"Amazing!" said Owen. He had no idea who You-Know-Who was, let alone how he'd managed to die twice.

Dolt didn't seem to notice. "Yes, the Daily Prophet thinks You-Know-Who might be permanently dead this time," he said, tucking the newspaper back under his arm. "He must be, for I can say his name at last! Voldemort! Voldemort! Voldemort!"

"Cool," said Owen in bewilderment. "So how did Voldie ... Voldiemort...?"

"We're all having trouble saying the name," said Dolt sympathetically. "Most of us have never said it before."

"I certain haven't," said Owen. "So how did ... Voldemort ... die this time?"

"Killed by the Chosen One, of course!" said Dolt. "I know who you're thinking of: Harry Potter! But it turns out we were all fooled. Even Voldemort himself. The real Chosen One is Severus Snape." He made a disappointed face. "A pity really, Potter's much better looking and he did manage to kill Voldemort the first time. He even managed to win that Death Eater, Draco Malfoy, over to his side. Thought the Ministry's mind control might have helped." His expression turned dreamy. "They're getting married, you know. Harry Potter to Draco Malfoy, and their friends Hermione Granger to Ron Weasley. The paper's full of it."

"How did Voldemort die?" Owen asked again. He wasn't particularly interested in weddings or Chosen Ones. In fact, he was starting to lose patience with the man's ridiculous babbling.

"He fell off the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts," said Dolt. "He lost his balance when he heard that his terrible secret had been discovered." He pronounced the words 'terrible secret' with relish.

"What terrible secret?" Owen asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jimmy and Kev shifting impatiently. He considered ending the conversation. But what Dolt said next shattered his composure completely.

"Whore crotches!"

Owen choked. Jimmy dropped his pickaxe with a splashing clang that echoed down the sewer.

"I can see you're as shocked as I was," said Dolt. "Whore crotches are very dark. Very dark indeed."

Owen tried to speak, but no words came out.

"Whore crotches make you immortal. You can be blown up, burnt, or drowned. But if you have a whore crotch, you can never die, " said Dolt impressively.

"No wonder they're so expensive," said Owen. Suddenly the conversation had taken a more interesting turn. He was keen to egg Dolt on and see what else he'd come out with.

"Very expensive!" Dolt agreed. "Someone must die, in order to make a whore crotch." His eyes became misty with memory. "Professor Slughorn told me all about them. Terrible things. Awful!" He blinked. "Voldemort had six whore crotches scattered all over Britain. Six of them! One of them was in Harry Potter's forehead!"

"Sounds uncomfortable," said Owen, with just the ghost of a smirk.

"Indeed! I wouldn't want a whore crotch in my forehead," said Dolt solemnly. "Neither did Harry Potter. He, and Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape tracked down all of Voldemort's hidden whore crotches. They destroyed them all! Then on the top of the Astronomy Tower, they told Volda ... Voldemort what they'd done." He beamed. "Voldemort knew he was now mortal! He lost his balance and ... kersplat!"

Owen leaned forward, and tried to look serious. "Are you sure they got them all? What if there were seven?" he asked. He was amused when Dolt went pale.

"I never thought of that. The Daily Prophet was certain all the whore crotches had been destroyed. If there's a whore crotch still out there, Vold ... Volde..." Dolt winced. "You-Know-Who would still be alive." He bit his lip nervously. "That would be terrible! I must find an Auror and ask them about whore crotches at once." He straightened up as a thought struck him. "Which reminds me, that's why I went out in the first place. To find an Auror. Mr Ollivander was robbed this morning. Have you seen any Aurors?"

"Glowing in the sky over the poles?" Owen suggested, with a shrug.

Dolt stared at him in confusion.

"That's auroras," said Kev. Jimmy nudged him into silence and nervously picked up his pickaxe.

But Dolt's mind was elsewhere. "I really must be going," he said. "Thanks for the chat. Do try to attend at least one of the parties. We can't have you working all day." He gave them a distracted nod, then turned and started climbing up the ladder.

Jimmy and Kev looked relieved that he was leaving, but Owen said, "No, wait. Tell me more about the whore crotches."

Dolt paused. "What did you say? Whore crotches?" He chuckled. "Is that what I've been calling them all day? No wonder Professor Trelawney kept giving me funny looks."

"It's not whore crotches?"

"I haven't said the word for fifty years. Not since Professor Dumbledore became headmaster and banned all talk of them," Dolt said, and hiccupped. "All those celebratory Firewhiskies haven't helped either."

"How do you really say it then?" asked Owen.

"Horcruxes," said Dolt.

The three men looked at each other in confusion. "Can you spell that?" asked Owen.

In reply, Dolt unfolded his newspaper open and held it up. He pointed at a word on the front page. "There," he said. "Hor-CRUX-es. Not whore crotches." He giggled.

But the three men were staring at the newspaper as a whole in horrified astonishment.

It was alive. Headlines danced and flashed. Flourishes swirled, and photographs animated like silent videos. On the front page, a young man with messy black hair, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and round glasses, stood in a doorway, with one hand on the door, and stared with open-mouthed horror as flashbulbs went off. Behind him, a pale young man sat up in a four-poster bed. He was naked apart from a scrap of sheet over his lap, and there were undone leather straps attached to the bedposts.

No comment, the black-haired man mouthed, and slammed the door shut. The scene replayed over and over.

Owen backed away until he was against the wall with Jimmy and Kev.

Dolt chuckled. "That was my reaction too. Caught in the act! They're kinky little buggers, that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. I'm glad they're getting married and making honest men of each other."

"It's moving," said Owen, pointing a shaking finger at the newspaper. All of a sudden, he was terrified. The harmless madman was clearly something else entirely and he wondered - far too late - what he could be. Grasping at straws, he babbled, "Is this what you're doing? All of you men in dresses? You're advertising new technology? Thin screens? Very clever, I'd buy it."

Dolt frowned. "The Daily Prophet isn't new. It's been around for a hundred years. You're acting like you've never seen it before." He made a face. "Hold on, the Firewhiskey is getting to me." He burped, and a jet of flame exploded out of his mouth, lighting up the tunnel for a long way in either direction. He patted his chest. "Excuse me," he said. Then he stared in confusion at the three flushers, who were now yelling and climbing over each other in their efforts to get away. They froze and stared at him with wide, frightened eyes when he spoke again. "You lot acting very strangely. Are you quite sane?" A suspicion penetrated the drunken fuzz of his mind. "You said you weren't Muggles. You said you were flushers. What's a flusher?"

"We're employees of Thames Water. We inspect London's sewers," said Owen, pressing his back against the wall. "What's a Muggle?"

Dolt let out a wail and nearly fell off the ladder. "You don't know? Why, you must be Muggles! And I've been talking to you about ... secret stuff. I'm going to be in so much trouble! Why does this always happen to me? I'm only ever trying to be neighbourly!" He yanked his wand out of his bodice again and brandished it like a gun. "Don't tell a soul what I told you."

"O-of course not," Jimmy stuttered. "Not a word."

Dolt's gaze flicked to the end of his wand. "I never could manage memory charms," he said. "Mine only make people's heads blow up like balloons and they remember everything they've ever forgotten."

Kev let out a high-pitched whimper.

"My only option ... is to flee," said Dolt. "Yes, flee!"

With a swirl of gingham, Dolt leaped off the ladder. The flushers gasped and raised their arms to catch him or ward him off. But in midair, right in front of their eyes, he vanished.

Only his voice could still be heard, echoing faintly, as though from down a long tunnel, and not the one they were standing in. "Ouch! Splinched myself!"

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of the water trickling down the tunnel and the muted sound of traffic up above.

Then Jimmy spoke. "That was close," he said.

Kev groaned.

Owen was gasping in shock. "He was talking rubbish ... then that paper ... then he..."

"Lighten up, he's a harmless madman. This'll be a laugh," Jimmy mimicked him scornfully. "Yeah, it's all fun and games, until they breathe fire and teleport." He shook Owen by both shoulders. "Pull yourself together. We were lucky today. He wasn't violent, like most of 'em are."

"Remember what happened to James?" asked Kev, staring into the middle distance with a haunted expression.

"Yup," said Jimmy grimly.

"He had a donkey's head afterwards. A donkey's head! Then he disappeared. We never found out what happened to him. Remember Frank?" asked Kev.

"Yeah, don't remind me," said Jimmy, through gritted teeth.

"He tasted that shiny white stuff running down the walls."

"He was a show off, that one. No sense at all," Jimmy looked sidelong at Owen.

"It took me half an hour to make him stop humping your leg," said Kev, looking shattered. "He quit right after that. A broken man."

"We were lucky this time," Jimmy repeated.

There was a long silence. Finally, Owen spoke. His mouth was dry. "I'm sorry. What just happened?" he asked. "Who was that man? WHAT was he?"

"The flushers have been arguing about that for years," said Jimmy wearily. He seemed prepared to talk, now that Owen had seen so much. "We're a dying breed. Fifty years ago, there were nine hundred flushers. Today?" he shrugged. "If you can handle it, there'll be forty-one."

"What happened to them?" asked Owen.

"Retired. Laid off, when the Germans bought the company. But most of them couldn't handle THAT place, if you know what I mean." He pointed upstream.

Owen's gaze followed his finger. Nothing seemed different about the tunnel. "What's up there?" he asked.

"Where that old man came from. Hidden behind that record store and bookshop up top, there's a whole square mile of London that's ... secret. Have you seen the sewer maps of this area?"

"Yes," said Owen. "Middle Level Sewer Number One running by itself for miles."

"It's rubbish," said Jimmy. "There's a whole network of tunnels that aren't on the map. Flushers have to keep them up here," he tapped his forehead. "Because you can't write them down. Real maps just ... fade." He shuddered. "And we flushers have to inspect them all," he added grimly. "That's our job."

"There's stuff washed down there that you wouldn't believe," said Kev. His face was pale around his freckles. "Jimmy here thinks a crashed flying saucer is the source of it all. Me, I think there's been a toxic waste spill that's sent everyone mad, and the government's quarantined off that area of London. Kept it all hush hush. I know it sounds crazy," he added, seeing Owen's expression. "But you saw what that old man could do."

Owen took a backward step away from them. "I'm not looking forward to this," he said. "Toxic waste that makes you wear a dress and breathe fire? I don't want to go in there."

"You're not," Jimmy snapped. "I wouldn't trust you in there for all the tea in China! Teasing that old man ... what if we met another one of them in the tunnels? No, you can stay up top and guard the hole. Call the police if we don't come up in an hour."

"Fine." Owen didn't have to be told twice. He started climbing the ladder.

"And don't use the company phone for personal calls," Jimmy called after him. "The expenses report was enormous last time. You must have been talking to your girlfriend for hours."

"What if Emma calls me?" Owen paused on the ladder.

"Then you'll use up the battery," Jimmy sighed in frustration. "I give up on you. Get on out there. Go on, hurry up! And throw down our helmets!"

Despite his clumsy waders, Owen climbed the rest of the way up the ladder like a monkey. But he managed a parting shot.

"Good luck, you two! I'll have the dresses ready when you come back!"

oOoOoOo

Long experience made Jimmy and Kev ignore the wonders around them. They made their way cautiously through the tunnels, sidestepping anything that glowed, spat or generally acted unnatural.

The tunnel here was dry. "I wonder what they do with all their water?" Kev wondered aloud, sidestepping the bloodstained footprints of something large that - impossibly - had five legs. To his relief, the footprints turned after a few metres and meandered down a side tunnel.

"Who knows?" said Jimmy grimly. He was checking behind them. "You feel it?"

"Like we're being watched?" said Kev. He took a deep, shaking breath. "Yeah. Not too far to go now."

They turned into a tunnel where a rainbow of rivulets ran down the walls. Steam rose in spirals from the mother-of-pearl-coloured trickle. Both of them held their breath as they walked past, even though the steam smelled very good indeed. Good enough to taste. The flushers had learned that lesson the hard way.

But a faint sound up ahead suggested that they still had more to learn.

Stopping in their tracks, they scanned the tunnel with the lamps on top of their helmets. Something moved in the shadows just outside the circles of lamplight. Jimmy raised his pickaxe and both of them tensed, as a creature crawled into the light.

It was a rat. Only a battered grey rat, with beady black eyes.

Jimmy lowered his pickaxe. Both he and Kev let out the breaths they'd been holding. But they did not relax completely. There was something more than a little off about that rat. Though the sewers were meant to be full of rodents, usually they never saw them. They fled at the sound of human footsteps.

But not this rat. Fearlessly, it stood up on its hind legs, making no attempt to sniff the air as a normal rat would. Instead, it glared at them, over the long, dark wand that it carried between its yellow teeth.

They'd never seen such a malevolent expression on an animal before.

From the darkness behind the rat came a sound like cloth brushing over the tunnel floor. Something else was moving in the shadows towards them. Something much larger than a rat.

"You hear that?" asked Kev. His mouth was dry.

"Someone's coming," said Jimmy in a low voice. "We'd better let them know that we're friendly. We don't want to startle one of THEM."

Both of them scanned the darkness with their lamps. "Hullo?" they chorused.

Then their lamps caught the intruder full in the face...

oOoOoOo

_**Author Note:**__ Please review! It's a big encouragement to keep writing!_


	2. Chapter 1: Invisible Snogging

**_Chapter 1: Invisible Snogging_**

"Stop snogging!" Ron Weasley demanded.

"Malfoy, we can hear you and Potter at it under that invisibility cloak," said Theodore Nott. He made a disgusting sucking sound with his lips in imitation.

Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini both howled with laughter, making the revellers walking along Diagon Alley peer drunkenly in their direction. Some of them raised their bottles and glasses and cheered. Hermione Granger looked up momentarily from the strange device she carried in her hands, rolled her eyes skywards and gave a world-weary but amused shake of her head. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle merely looked confused.

But Draco Malfoy was furious. "Shut up, Nott," he said, yanking his lips away from Harry's. "We don't sound like that."

Harry Potter pulled Draco's lips back onto his own. They did sound a bit like that, but he didn't care. Under the cloak, they had privacy, as long as nobody was listening too closely. Could anyone blame them if they couldn't keep their hands off each other?

If, even a week ago, you'd told Harry he'd be snogging his fiance, Draco Malfoy, after they'd both received the Order of Merlin First Class, along with Severus Snape and the Hogwarts house elves, for killing Voldemort and most of his Death Eaters the night before, Harry would have thought you were mad. But here they were, and here were his friends, and Draco's friends, all together and now friends with each other. Even the Sorting Hat would have been pleased at how well the Houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin were getting on.

The Orders of Merlin First Class were still pinned to Harry and Draco's robe lapels. They were round badges of gold, on which Merlin's noble, pointy-hatted profile could be seen, with words inscribed around the outside: _J'ai mis ma robe et mon chapeau de sorcier_. "They're an honour to receive. Very powerfully magical," Draco had whispered to him during the ceremony while fingering his own award with glee. But Harry was embarrassed by the fuss, and had decided to lose his as soon as possible. Hermione and Ron had only received Second Class awards, a silver version of the First Class awards, and Harry didn't consider that fair. Not after all those years they'd spend chasing Horcruxes together.

But apart from the awkwardness about the Orders of Merlin, Harry was as happy as he'd ever been. He was in love, surrounded by friends, healthy and wealthy too, thanks to his Gringotts bank vault full of golden galleon coins. There was only one fly in the ointment. Or rather - a beetle.

"Rita Skeeter's right behind us," said Hermione urgently. Her hands tightened on the strange device and she looked up. "The Proxima says she's only three hundred metres away."

They were passing Mr Ollivander's wand shop. A sign on the door said, 'Back in five minutes' but the door was slightly ajar. "Let's hide in there," said Ron, pointing.

In silent agreement, Pansy pushed the door open and the friends trooped inside. Blaise was the last in and pulled the door shut behind him.

The shop appeared empty, apart from dust, and the silent tingle of magic rising from the thousands of boxes of wands on the shelves. There was no sign of Mr Ollivander. Tensely, the friends waited, not daring to move or make a noise. A few moments passed, and then Rita Skeeter could be seen passing outside the dusty windows. She was at the head of phalanx of reporters, all hurrying to be the first to catch Harry and Draco and subject them to invasive interviews and photographs. Harry recognised some of the reporters who had burst into the Leaky Cauldron the night before and taken that embarrassing photo. Did they ever sleep?

Something clicked softly beside Harry and he turned. Pansy was taking a secret photo of the reporters with her new camera, a present from her boyfriends, Fred and George Weasley. She lowered the camera. "Serves 'em right," she muttered to herself.

Harry fought back a chuckle, but nobody outside was laughing. The revellers in the street were being forced back by the crush of reporters hot on the scent. There were some jeers and catcalls, but none of the reporters paid any attention. They were scanning faces on the street, looking for their prey. In a few seconds, they had passed the shop and were out of sight.

A minute passed, then Hermione looked up from the Proxima and said, "They've gone."

"They're checking Knockturn Alley, I think," said Theodore. He was at Hermione's side, and was staring down at the Proxima too.

Harry lifted the cloak and came over to have a look. The Proxima was Pansy's mirrored compact, which Hermione and Theodore had enchanted. A black arrow on the mirror pointed at all times in the direction of Rita Skeeter. A line below the arrow showed how many metres she was distant. In a touch that was more Theodore than Hermione, it wasn't Rita Skeeter's name that was written below the distance, but a very rude word.

The Proxima was counting up: two hundred meters ... three hundred meters ... four hundred metres. "I think you're right. They're heading down Knockturn Alley," said Harry, breathing a sigh of relief. He felt Draco's arm go around his waist.

"Harry, I hate to say I told you so but..." Draco pinched Harry's bottom, making him jump and laugh. "...I told you so. Rita and her quill-pushing friends are never going to make do with interviewing Severus Snape, just because we hid and ran the moment the ceremony finished."

"I think you're right," Harry admitted. One of the many perks about being engaged to Draco, apart from having a sexy, blond, smart-arse to snog, was having him as a full time PR representative. The Malfoys were experts at handling the media and casting themselves as the heroes. Lucius had been so good at it; he had escaped Azkaban, the first time he had been caught doing Voldemort's bidding. The second time, when he'd lead a party of Death Eaters into the Ministry to find the prophecy and kill Harry and his friends, Lucius had not been so lucky.

Harry shuddered. Order of Merlin winners were able to make a request of the Ministry, and Draco had used his to get his father released from Azkaban. The Azkaban guards would be dropping off Lucius Malfoy in Diagon Alley in the evening. Harry wasn't looking forward to it at all. But he still smiled when Draco nibbled his earlobe. It was the father he hated. The son had long since proved himself, in so many ways.

"Of course, I'm right," Draco said, drawling more than usual. "The only way to get Severus Snape the media attention he deserves for destroying most of Voldemort's Horcruxes, is to give him a make-over. Pink robes and clean hair, like a good little wizard. The type Witch Weekly's editor adores. We can go and buy the special shampoo I have in mind right now."

"You're going to die, Malfoy," Theodore deadpanned. "If you tell Professor Snape to wear pink robes and wash his hair, he'll..." Theodore drew one finger across his throat and made a drawn out throat cutting sound.

Crabbe and Goyle looked terrified. Frowning, Draco released Harry and gave them both a soothing pat on the shoulder. "Stop being overdramatic, Nott," the blond Slytherin grumbled. "Severus will know that this is the only sensible way. If he doesn't, I'll explain. Besides, Harry doesn't want any media attention, though I..."

"You do," Harry teased.

Draco drew himself up with a cheeky grin. "I deserve a bit of attention," he said. "See what I'm missing out on because you embarrass easily, Harry. Didn't I kill Voldemort's pet snake and Horcrux?"

"Yes, you did, and you scared me half to death in the process," said Harry, remembering how terrified he'd been when Draco had Apparated outside the burning ruin of the Shrieking Shack. He advanced across the shop and took Draco in his arms, kissing him. "Don't scare me like that again."

Between kisses, Draco said, in a more serious tone, "I don't mind the odd interview, Harry. I wouldn't be a Slytherin if I did." He laughed when Harry growled and bit his throat. Lifting his chin to give Harry more access, he added. "But they have to get their facts right. To think they thought you tied ME to the bed at the Leaky Cauldron, when I tied YOU!"

"Stop that snogging, or I'll be sick over both of you," Blaise announced in his most theatrical voice.

Ron, Theodore, Pansy and Hermione laughed, but they stopped suddenly, when someone behind the shelves of wands cleared their throat.

Everyone spun around. Mr Ollivander was standing at the back of his shop. His arms were folded, and he stared at them with his sinister pale eyes. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he said sarcastically. "But I do recall placing a sign on the door of my premises advising that it wasn't open for business. Do Orders of Merlin First Class send one blind, as well as the other things they are rumoured to do?"

"I'm sorry," said Harry, letting go of Draco and feeling awkward. "We were trying to hide from Rita Skeeter."

"A feat you appear to have accomplished," said Mr Ollivander. "And now you must excuse me. I'm expecting the arrival of some Aurors. My assistant, Mr Dolt, was supposed fetch them." The pale eyes narrowed. "But rumour has it, he has been arrested for being Bloody Stupid."

"That's a serious felony," said Draco, and Harry bit his lip to stifle a laugh when he realised he wasn't joking. "You can go to Azkaban for being Bloody Stupid. What did he do?"

"Professor Trelawney informed me she saw Mr Dolt hopping along Diagon Alley this afternoon, wearing a gingham dress, drunk and half-splinched and babbling that had hadn't meant to tell the Muggles our secrets. Then she saw an Auror arrest him for the last thing." Mr Ollivander's tone was sombre. "It isn't the first time he has spoken unwisely to Muggles. If he's unlucky, they'll increase the charges to Incurably Daft and then he'll be in trouble."

Draco whistled and shook his head.

"Professor Trelawney was in here? Was she buying a wand?" asked Harry. It was strange to hear of the Professor of Divination being out and about in public. In Harry's experience, she had rarely left her home in one of the Hogwarts towers. Perhaps she was feeling braver, now that Voldemort and his Death Eaters were dead or imprisoned?

The cold eyes turned to him and he almost shuddered. "Professor Trelawney was searching Diagon Alley for you, Mr Potter. She had a prophecy to impart."

"Oh no!" Harry could easily guess what Professor Trelawney's so-called prophecy would turn out to be. She had prophesised his death at least fifty times when he was in her Divination class at Hogwarts. Everything from being murdered by Voldemort, which made sense but Harry hadn't wanted to think about it, to being savaged to death by Flobberworms, which made no sense at all because they lacked teeth. The old fraud loved delivering fake bad news. Mr Ollivander appeared to be about to say more about Professor Trelawney, so Harry hastened to ask, "Why do you need an Auror?"

"I was robbed," said Mr Ollivander. "Between six o'clock last night, when I locked my shop and raised the magical defences, and ten o'clock this morning, when I returned, the wand on the left of shelf 666 was stolen. Yew and dragon heartstring. Twelve inches long. Unbending and tough. Gave me splinters when I put it in the box sixty years ago. An evil wand that I had hoped never to sell, but now I fear it has found a true master."

It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to ask why Mr Ollivander hadn't thrown the wand out if he had known it was trouble. He felt a sense of unease, which faded somewhat when he cast his eyes over the shelves and shelves wand boxes in the shop. There were thousands of wands here. How could Mr Ollivander know if one, out of so many, was missing? He wasn't surprised when Hermione spoke up.

"Are you really sure that particular wand has gone?" she asked doubtfully. But she stepped back when Mr Ollivander turned his pale gaze towards her.

"Hermione Granger. Vine wood with a dragon heartstring core. Ten inches. Nice and flexible," he intoned.

Hermione nodded, and put her hand into the pocket where her wand resided. A blush stained her cheeks.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Miss Granger," said Mr Ollivander. "Every single one. My memory is even clearer when the wand in question has been stolen." He seemed quite cross at the suggestion that his memory was faulty, and ready to throw them all out of the shop.

Harry was very willing to go. Grabbing Draco's hand, he started to pull him towards the door. The reporters were long gone and there was no reason to stay. "I'm sorry to hear about your loss," he said over his shoulder to Mr Ollivander. "If I see any Aurors, I'll let them know."

Mr Ollivander nodded curtly at them, and watched as they all left. Then he stepped forward and banged the door shut behind them.

Harry was about to start walking down Diagon Alley, in the opposite direction to the reporters, when he felt Draco tug on his hand.

"Wait a moment," said Draco. "Professor Trelawney has made another prophecy? We should find out what it was first."

"There's no point," said Harry.

"I thought you said that some of her prophecies were true?" said Draco.

"Very, very few of them," said Harry. "And this one can't possibly be real."

"Why not?" Ron asked. All the friends were crowding inwards, listening.

Harry shrugged. "Because it sounded like Professor Trelawney SAID she had a prophecy to tell me."

"Why should that make a difference?" asked Pansy, fiddling with her camera.

But Draco gave a nod of understanding. "Harry told me that when Professor Trelawney makes a true prophecy, she loses consciousness and doesn't realise that she's making one. If she said that she had a prophecy for Harry, she must have been conscious. So it can't possibly have been real."

"Not necessarily," said Hermione slowly. She raised her hand to her mouth and frowned, apparently deep in thought.

"She probably just wanted to tell me some rubbish about being doomed to an early, painful death, because my birth planet is in Uranus," said Harry.

"I'll kill that birth planet, Harry," said Draco. "I'm the only one who gets to be in Uranus."

"THAT'S IT!" Theodore exploded, as laughter and cries of horror filled the air. Even Hermione dropped her hand from her mouth and doubled over with laughter. "You two can go and get a ROOM!" He waited until the laughter had subsided. It took a long time. "The rest of us can go off and get that engagement present for Potter, Malfoy." He winked.

"Brilliant, Nott!" Draco beamed. He walked over and whispered something into Theodore's ear. "That's the one that I want. You can take the money from my account at Gringotts. Thanks for this."

"It'll be a relief to get away from the constant snogging," said Theodore.

"I didn't know I was getting an engagement present," said Harry.

"Of course you didn't. It's supposed to be a surprise," said Theodore.

"I'll get you an engagement present too, Draco. So, my secret present, is it big or little?" asked Harry cheekily. He reached into his pocket to touch his wand and use Occlumency to read Theodore's mind, but Draco grasped his hand and pulled it out.

"You'd better go, Nott," said Draco. "My beloved is showing his Slytherin tendencies."

Theodore laughed. "Good! We'll meet you back here in two hours."

Everyone but Harry and Draco started walking away. Crabbe and Goyle were being ushered by Blaise.

"See you, mate," Ron said to Harry. "Don't let Rita Skeeter catch you."

"Take the Proxima," said Hermione. She handed it to Harry, who glanced at it - Rita Skeeter was a kilometre away - and put it into his pocket.

"Thanks," he said and waved goodbye to his friends. They walked back down Diagon Alley, talking and laughing. Harry felt the invisibility cloak go back over him, and then Draco crushed their lips together.

"Finally alone again," Draco purred. "Mmm, this is sexy. Come over here, Harry."

In the middle of the street were the remains of a statue. Only the plinth remained, with the furry bronze paws of some kind of animal standing on its hind legs. They had been broken off at the knee. Harry just had time to make out the almost scratched out words 'Weasley - No More' when Draco pushed him up against the plinth and kissed him passionately.

"How does it feel to know we're snogging in the middle of Diagon Alley, and no one can see us?" whispered Draco. He wrapped Harry's legs around his waist and pressed him hard against the plinth.

"Fantastic," murmured Harry, before opening his mouth and letting their tongues battle. It occurred to him that there were uses for an invisibility cloak that would never have occurred to him when he was eleven years old. They could snog - and more - anywhere they wanted. No one would know, unless they overheard, or accidentally ran into them. But the risk of getting caught was exciting.

Harry worked his fingers under the waistband of Draco's trousers and pulled out his shirt. Then he slid his hand up the smooth skin of Draco's back.

Draco's head dropped backwards and he groaned in pleasure. Harry sucked hard on his newly exposed throat. He was just about to start undoing the buttons of Draco's shirt when...

...a wolf whistle shrilled through the air.

Harry and Draco turned their heads and froze.

oOoOoOo

**_Author's Notes:_**

_The translation of the French inscription around the Order of Merlin awards is: I put on my robe and wizard hat. It's a very old Internet joke and it means that cybersexing with Merlin would have been a waste of time. ;-)_

_29 July 2012: Many thanks to Floyd in the Sky for fixing my translation!_


	3. Chapter 2: Invisible Argument

_**Author Note:**__ Sorry about the delay between chapters. I'm trying to finish Rhythm of Four first. But here's a chapter to prove that I'm still thinking about Deathly Hullos and I'll finish it in time. Many thanks to xXxStarStrifexXx, alexablews, Ryutana, Airborn-Love, orsheeblue, HaloGurl6423, M, Aibell and others for the encouragement._

oOoOoOo

_**Chapter 2: Invisible Argument**_

Mad-Eye Moody was limping towards Harry and Draco, his metal leg jangling with each step. Oblivious to the stares he was getting from people who lacked his magical, invisibility cloak-penetrating eye, he pointed and shouted, "Gotcha! Caught in the act!" Then he roared with laughter, looking and sounding just like a pirate.

Under the cloak, Harry and Draco broke apart red-faced, and started tucking their shirts back in. Passers-by were laughing and pointing at Mad-Eye Moody apparently talking to an empty space, but he paid them no attention. He sidled up to Harry and Draco and muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "Glad to see you're enjoying yourselves."

Harry caught a powerful whiff of Firewhiskey. It seemed Moody, like nearly everyone else in the magical world, had been doing a bit of celebrating himself. More than a bit; the old Auror was as drunk and happy as Harry had ever seen him. "We were enjoying ourselves until you came along," Harry muttered grouchily. "What have you been doing?"

Moody cackled and rolled his magical eye at the people watching him, until they started walking again. "I saw 'em all," he said, steadying himself on the plinth. "Every one of 'em. All laid out at the Ministry. Death Eaters! Serves 'em right. I've been chasing 'em for years. Lost my leg, lost my eye. Now they're dead! They're all dead or rotting in Azkaban and I'm free! Don't need protections no more." He laughed like a pirate again.

"What do you mean, don't need protections?" asked Harry, with a sudden feeling of foreboding.

"Been down the Order Headquarters. Time to renew the wards, but I thought, blow that. Don't need 'em. Got rid of 'em instead." Moody's back was sliding down the plinth.

"You got rid of the wards? Whatever happened to constant vigilance?" Harry was both stunned and furious. He and Draco lived at the Headquarters, in a room with a double bed on the very top floor. Moody lived there too, in a room much further down.

"When I was at the Ministry this morning, I gave Voldemort's body such a kick he went sliding across the room," Moody said, with a hiccup. "Then I fell over. Shouldn't kick with one leg." He opened his arms wide and shouted at the whole street, "This is the happiest day of my life. Dark magic is over. I'm bored! I'm so bored! Got nothing left to do!"

Harry was certain that the old Auror was going to wake in the morning with a splitting hangover and a creeping suspicion that he'd done something terrible while he was drunk. But judging from the cheers Moody was getting from drunk passersby, the rest of the wizarding world was going to wake up the same way. "It's not over. Mr Ollivander told me he had a wand stolen this morning," Harry said. "A Dark one."

Moody had been holding his face in his hands as if it might fall off, but at Harry's words he looked up. "Is that so? I'll have to check it out," he said, dragging himself back to his feet with the aid of the plinth and starting to limp noisily away. "See both ya, later." He cackled again. "You can keep on doing what you were doing."

"Fat chance of that," grumbled Draco, leaning his pointed chin on Harry's shoulder. "I'm not in the mood now. Bloody pervert," he added, when he was sure Moody was out of earshot. He was a little afraid of the unpredictable old Auror.

"Where are we going to live?" Harry wondered aloud.

"Malfoy Manor," said Draco instantly. He must have felt Harry stiffen, because he pulled away so he could look him in the eye. "Don't be like that, Harry. You'll love living there. The Manor has been in my family for generations."

"Your FATHER will be living there," Harry pointed out.

Draco winced. "Well, there's that. But there are hundreds of rooms, Harry. You won't even see Father most of the time."

"That won't matter, because I'll know he's there," said Harry. Conscious of the invisibility cloak over him and more people approaching, he resisted the urge to pace. Fury was rising inside him at the memory of Lucius Malfoy and his behaviour at the Ministry of Magic all those years ago. "'You can kill the others.' That's what he said about Hermione, Ron, Luna and Neville. He would have said the same about me, except I was holding the prophecy. I can't live in the same house as Lucius Malfoy."

Draco made a face and seemed to be thinking hard, before he spoke. His voice was slow and careful. "I'm sorry about what Father did, Harry. Very sorry. But it was Voldemort who was truly responsible."

"I didn't see Voldemort there at the Ministry until much later," said Harry.

Looking frustrated over Harry's obtuseness, Draco said, "Voldemort threatened to kill Mother and I, if Father didn't do exactly what he said. What else could Father have done but follow orders? He'd have done anything to save our lives."

"He could have resisted. He could have fought back," said Harry fiercely.

"Harry, not everybody is as brave and talented at fighting Dark Magic as you," said Draco, with some passion. He noticed a bald wizard glance at the apparently unoccupied plinth and waited until he was gone before adding in a lower, teasing voice. "Not that I want to inflate your already enormous ego." He'd noticed how embarrassed Harry looked at the words of praise. But then his voice became serious again. Very serious. "Most people just played along with Voldemort and hoped he wouldn't kill them or force them to do something unforgivable." He took a deep breath, grasped both of Harry's upper arms, and looked him in the eye. "Harry, I was one of them until he ordered Aunt Bellatrix to murder Mother. It was only then, when it was far too late, that I started fighting back." He took another deep, shaking breath. "Tell me what happened that night at the Ministry. What exactly did Father do?"

Harry hadn't told Draco before. Now he told him in great detail, not leaving out a single threat. Draco listened gravely, obviously desperate to speak, but he was tactful enough to keep his mouth shut until Harry had finished, and then he said, "It's as I thought. Father didn't actually do much at all."

"He TOLD US we were going to be KILLED," Harry said, feeling his temper rise.

This time a witch in a plaid robe stared at the plinth. Then, shaking her head as if to clear her ears, she walked on.

"Father said a lot of things," said Draco, after the witch had gone. "I think you've noticed how we Malfoys love to talk. But he also told the others not to kill you."

"Only because I was holding the prophecy," said Harry.

"That would have been his excuse to Voldemort," said Draco. He sighed. "Look, Harry. I'm not excusing him. But at least only blame him for the things he actually did. It was my Aunt Bellatrix, and Dolohov, Rodolphus, Avery, Mulciber and Rookwood who tried to kill you. They were raving, murderous lunatics. They were just as dangerous to their own side as they were to their enemies, and every single one of them was killed last night."

Harry heard the satisfaction in Draco's voice.

"Nott's father was at the Ministry too, but Voldemort threatened to kill his son, just like he threatened Father," Draco went on. "Mr Nott must have decided to play dead after one of you elbowed him in the face. That way he'd get caught by the Ministry and sent to Azkaban, but at least he would have harmed no one and his son would be safe."

Harry snorted, but his heart wasn't in it. He'd forgotten about Theodore's father. As a Death Eater, Mr Nott hadn't made much of an impression. He'd been out of commission roughly thirty seconds after he and the rest of the Death Eaters had appeared at the Ministry. Harry had grown to like Theodore in the last few days, despite the Slytherin's loud aversion to public snogging. He was a skinny, dark-haired young man, highly intelligent and he never talked about his father. Draco treated him like a walking encyclopaedia, a bit like Harry couldn't help treating Hermione.

"Then there was Crabbe's father," said Draco. "With the mental level of an Inferi and most of the smell too."

Harry almost smiled.

"Mr Crabbe does whatever he's told without question, just like his son. They're not responsible for what happened that night," said Draco.

Harry shrugged. Draco was looking at him thoughtfully.

"You know, you still have that Order of Merlin favour from the Ministry, Harry. So has Severus. I'm getting Father out of Azkaban with mine. You could get Crabbe or Nott's father out with yours."

"We can live at my house," said Harry, changing the subject so he wouldn't have to answer Draco's request. "It needs a little work. Well, it's a dump, actually. It used to belong to my godfather."

"Sirius Black?" said Draco, after a long pause. He seemed disappointed, but too diplomatic to press the issue, right just then, of freeing the fathers of their friends, and getting forgiveness for his own father.

"Yes," said Harry. "It was abandoned for more than thirteen years. It needs a make over even more than Severus if that's possible. It's got lots of cobwebs, and screaming portraits." He frowned. "Also, a house elf called Kreacher. The little bastard betrayed Sirius. He hates Blood Traitors."

"Then he'll really hate me," said Draco. "Sirius Black had nothing on what I am now. I was raised as a Pure Blood, but I fought Voldemort and I'm engaged to you. I'm the biggest Blood Traitor that ever lived."

"Phew!" Harry breathed out sharply. He hadn't thought of that. Kreacher would try to murder Draco as soon as look at him. Even though he'd wanted to be Draco's house elf at some point, and he'd given Draco's dead mother information that had lead to Sirius's death. Harry frowned at the memory. Why hadn't she been braver and fought Voldemort instead of sucking up to him? Why couldn't Slytherins be more like Gryffindors?

His thoughts were interrupted by Draco's urgent whisper.

"Harry, don't say a word. There's a reporter coming. We should have been keeping our eyes on the Proxima."

Alarmed, Harry followed Draco's gaze. But a smile spread over his face. "Not just any reporter," he said, not bothering to keep his voice down.

Luna Lovegood was meandering down Diagon Alley towards them. She was wearing blue jeans, embroidered all over with occult signs, a white shirt, and was holding a quill and notebook. Her wand was tucked behind her ear, holding back her long, dirty blonde hair.

Harry was pleased to see Luna again. He hadn't seen much of her while he'd been out hunting Horcruxes, though he did know she had finished Hogwarts and was now the star reporter for The Quibbler, her father's magazine. He reached out with an invisible hand and tapped her on the shoulder as she drew level to the plinth. "Hi Luna. Good to see you," he whispered.

"Harry." Luna beamed at thin air, and came to a halt. She seemed even less self-conscious about talking to invisible people than Mad-Eye Moody, and the old Auror had at least had the excuse of being drunk. "I can't see you at all, but it's still good," she said.

"Do you have time for a cup of tea?" asked Harry. "I want to introduce you to my fiance." He noticed that, under the cloak, Draco had a rather mortified expression, as if he were wondering why Harry wanted to introduce him to the girl who had been Hogwart's resident lunatic.

She'll want to interview us, Draco mouthed at Harry while shaking his head.

"I'd love to have a chat, Harry, but could it be later? I've got some very urgent and important questions to ask first," Luna began.

See? Draco mouthed.

"To Mrs Idyll who owns the Divination shop," Luna finished.

Draco's mouth dropped open.

Harry grinned, draped an arm around him and gave him an amused squeeze. "Why her?" he asked.

Luna's rather protuberant silvery eyes opened wide. "It's amazing, Harry. The most important story since the Quibbler began. Nothing else that's happened today comes close." She leaned forward. "This morning, Mrs Idyll saw a Crumple-Horned Snorkack rolling-skating down Diagon Alley," she said impressively.

"Wow!" said Harry in a voice full of appreciation. And he meant it. Talking to Luna always cheered him up and put things into perspective. He needed it, after the awkward conversation about Death Eater fathers, Kreacher, and where he and Draco were going to live.

"So you see, I have to go," said Luna. "But give me a hug first."

Harry did so with pleasure, cautious of the invisibility cloak and wondering how Luna must look to outsiders, smiling serenely, with her arms apparently wrapped around nothing at all. "See you," he said, and watched Luna meander away.

Draco stared incredulously after her. Finally, he spoke up. "She's mad, Harry."

"No, Luna is perfectly sane," said Harry. "You'll realise it when you get a chance to talk with her properly. She's just got a very open mind."

"Her mind's so open that her brain fell out," said Draco, with a distinct pout. "Didn't you date her once?"

Now Harry knew what was bothering Draco. The hug Luna demanded must have been the last straw. "No, we were only ever friends," he said.

But Draco's bottom lip stuck out further. "I SAW you two on a date," he insisted. "It was at Slughorn's party, when Severus caught me."

Harry burst out laughing. "No, I never dated Luna," he said, and pointed at the middle of his chest. "Gay, remember?"

Draco made a sulky noise, and Harry figured it was better to show rather than tell. "Gay," he whispered, kissing Draco's neck. "Gay," he whispered again, trailing kisses along Draco's jawline. "Gay," he said, pressing his lips to Draco's, where they stayed for some time.

"I know you're gay," said Draco eventually. "It's just that..." His voice trailed off. "Sometimes I can't believe my luck. To be engaged to you. I want it to last more than anything. But sometimes..." His voice trailed off again. "Our backgrounds are so different..."

Harry reflected that Draco had every reason to feel insecure about their relationship. Dolores Umbridge and Auror Barnes had cruelly put him under an Unbreakable Vow when they'd caught him after he'd rescued Harry from the Death Eaters. The Vow was very complex in theory, but simple in action. If Draco stopped loving Harry, he would die. Harry thought it was more than enough reason for Draco to be worried. Abruptly, he came to a decision.

"Let's get out of here," he said.

Draco looked at him. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Out of the magic world. I'm sick of us getting stared at. Sick of us getting followed. I'm stick of standing here under this cloak trying to snog quietly." He got a slight smile out of Draco at that. "Let's go outside where no one can possibly know us, find a nice Muggle teashop or pub, and just sit and talk until it's time to meet our friends. We can come back and get Luna in an hour, so I can introduce her properly."

"The Muggle world?" Draco looked scandalised. "But Muggles smell!"

With a snort of laughter, Harry said, "Draco, you sound like you're five years old!"

"They do smell," Draco insisted.

"All right. We'll go to the smelly Muggle world, and walk down the smelly Muggle street, and drink some smelly Muggle tea," said Harry.

Draco scowled.

"And no one will bother us at all," Harry said.

Draco thought for a moment. Then he reached down and took the Proxima out of Harry's pocket. He held it up.

Rita Skeeter was only three hundred metres away and closing fast.

"I hate to say it, but you win, Harry. Let's get out of here," said Draco.

Harry steered them both towards the Leaky Cauldron as fast as he could.

oOoOoOo

A blast of diesel fumes hit Harry's face as he and Draco exited the Leaky Cauldron and entered the Muggle world. Business-suited Muggles walked past, without giving them a second glance, though Harry had removed the invisibility cloak. Their formal robes would have looked old fashioned to Muggle eyes, but far less noticeable than the usual dresses or cloaks most witches and wizards wore.

Cars, trucks and buses were backed all the way up the road, and their exhausts were filling the air with a choking stench. Harry wrinkled his nose and held his sleeve up to his face. He'd become used to magical transport. Broomsticks and Apparating had very little odour.

Then he noticed the smug expression on Draco's face, though he said nothing.

Harry lowered his sleeve. "You win, Draco," he said. "Muggles DO smell."

"I don't know why you even argued, Harry." Draco looked around at the traffic moving at a walking pace under the summer sun. "I heard the stinky gases Muggle machines put out are changing the world's climate. They'll be the death of us, these Muggles."

"They're trying to fix it," said Harry absently. He was looking around for a teashop and he spotted one across the busy road. Outside the teashop was a ring of orange plastic barriers, and standing inside them was a young man wearing white overalls, waders, red plastic gloves and a helmet with a lamp on top. Harry's instinct for trouble made him look twice. The man was pacing backwards and forwards anxiously and playing with a small box with buttons on the front. Then Harry tore his eyes away. Surely it wasn't his business? "We should cross the road," he said, but grabbed Draco's arm to stop him before he could step out into the traffic. "We have to wait for the lights."

"Lights?" Draco was looking around, thoroughly confused. "What lights? Can't we just use a warding spell to protect ourselves against those Muggle machines?"

"Only if we want to look like suicidal lunatics and leave suspicious holes in their cars if they hit," said Harry. The traffic lights turned red as he spoke and the traffic ground to a halt, leaving a path across the road. Many Muggles were also using this opportunity to cross. Harry stepped out onto the road and pulled Draco after him.

They were nearly across when a voice hailed them. "Excuse me! Can you help me? Please?"

The urgency in the voice made Harry turn. The young man in the overalls was waving frantically at them. With a raised eyebrow glance at Draco, Harry walked over to the edge of the barriers. There was a large open manhole inside with the sound of running water coming up from below. "What's the matter?" Harry asked.

"Can I borrow your phone?" the man asked. "Only, I've got an urgent phone call to make, and I seem to have used up all the battery on the company phone." He sheepishly held up the box with buttons in his hand.

"Sorry, neither of us have phones," said Harry. The lights had changed to green again, and he climbed over one of the barriers so that he wouldn't be run over. Draco followed him.

Now they were right next to the hole. Harry could see a steel ladder leading down into the darkness. A strange warning sensation made Harry's skin prickle. Something was very wrong. Something dark and magical was close by.

"You don't have phones?" echoed the man in disbelief. "But you're teenagers. All teenagers have phones." He looked at Harry and Draco's dress robes and a suspicion seemed to cross his mind. He started to look ill.

"What's the problem?" Harry asked. "Maybe we can go and get you some help?"

Worry overcome the man's fear. "It's been too long," he wailed. "Jimmy and Kev said they'd be down Middle Level Sewer Number One for less than an hour, but it's been nearly two and there's no sign of 'em."

"You think they could be trapped?" asked Harry. He looked down. The very last place on Earth that he'd like to be trapped in was that hole, he decided. Not only was it pitch black inside but also there was an unknown depth of foul water running along the bottom. It looked like the sort of place you could drown, suffocate from poisonous gases, slip, fall, freeze from claustrophobia and cold, catch horrible diseases and get lost, all simultaneously. But the tingle of dark magic promised an even worse death.

"I know they're trapped. Or dead," said the man miserably. He stared at them and his gaze sudden became accusing. "It must have been your lot. Are you from the spaceship?"

"The what?" Harry was taken aback.

"Or was it a toxic waste spill?"

"What are you talking about?" said Harry.

"You could almost be vampires, with those clothes you're wearing. My name's Owen, by the way."

Harry goggled at him. "I'm Harry. Draco and I will go and get you some help," he said, wondering if there were any Aurors left in the magical world who weren't drunk.

"Draco? Like Dracula? He IS a vampire?" asked Owen.

"No," said Harry, turning to Draco, thinking that the Slytherin was being unusually quiet and wondering if he was going to explode in fury at this strange Muggle. Then he stopped.

Draco was staring down into the hole, as if transfixed. His face was contorted and brick red with some unreadable emotion, and his grey eyes were unnaturally dark. He was panting, as if he'd just come back from running a marathon, and his hands were clenched and trembling.

"What's up with you?" Owen asked him.

Draco didn't seem to hear. His lips peeled back from his teeth in a silent snarl, and he shook his head, slowly at first, then faster and faster.

Harry realised that the strange feeling of wrongness wasn't emanating so much from the hole as it was from Draco himself. Instinctively, he reached a hand into his pocket to touch his wand, and his other hand towards his beloved.

Then Draco's unnatural stillness broke.

Almost too fast to be seen, Draco dived for the ladder. He was at the bottom in a flash and wading upstream, the dirty water coming up to his shins. The hems of his dress robes and trousers were wallowing, his shiny shoes were out of sight beneath the surface, but the normally fastidious Slytherin didn't seem to notice. Without even bothering to get out his wand and make light, he ran up the tunnel in the direction of Diagon Alley and vanished from Harry's sight.

oOoOoOo

_**Author Note:**__ Please review!_


	4. Chapter 3: Beasts in the Darkness

_**Author Note:**__ Well, it HAS been a long time. Real life has a habit of getting in the way of fiction. But I haven't stopped thinking about The Deathly Hullos and I've been adding bits and pieces to the manuscript whenever I've had a chance. Now that NaNoWriMo 2011 has come along, I know what I'll be working on!_

oOoOoOo

_**Chapter 3: Beasts in the Darkness**_

"Draco! Stop!"

Harry dropped to his hands and knees and peered into the tunnel. It was dark and a cold breeze blew past his face. He heard his shout echoing but there was no change in the splashing sound of Draco's receding footsteps.

Harry knew he had no choice: follow Draco or lose him forever. He could only hope that the mysterious dark magic that had possessed his fiance would not, in turn, possess him.

Grabbing the top of the ladder, Harry lowered his feet onto the first rung. A strong hand grasped him by the shoulder.

"Stop! You two can't go down there. S'not legal! You'll both snuff it and they'll blame me!"

Harry stared up at Owen's panicked face. "I have to," he said. The rusty ladder was cutting into his hands. He didn't want to think about what he'd catch from a cut on his hands in a sewer. "I've got to catch Draco and I'll find your friends too."

Owen stared at him. "But you're one of THAT lot," he said. "You're the reason Jimmy and Kev are-"

"No, I'm not," Harry cut him off fiercely. "I FIGHT that lot. I always have."

Owen's eyes widened and he looked doubtful.

"You're right to be afraid of us," said Harry. "Many of us can't be trusted. But I promise that I WILL find and bring back Draco and your friends. You have my word on that." He stared into Owen's eyes.

Owen expression wavered between doubt and fear. Then his face became grim and he gave a single nod. He reached up, took off his helmet, switched on the lamp and dropped the helmet on Harry's head. "Right then. Take this. The air should be okay but there's a lot of other stuff."

"I'll be careful." Harry was already halfway down the ladder. It was like entering another world. The curved, red brick walls shone. Motes of dust sparkled in the light of the lamp. It might have almost been beautiful, but for the darkness and fear flowing in from all sides, especially from the direction that Draco had gone.

Icy water entered Harry's shoes and he shuddered with disgust and cold. By the time he reached the bottom of the ladder, the water was up to his knees.

"He won't have gone far," Owen shouted and his voice echoed. "It's too dark to see."

"I hope you're right," said Harry. He couldn't hear Draco's footsteps anymore. The current pushed against his legs as he turned and waded upstream. He couldn't see where he was placing his feet and wondered if he might drop suddenly into deep, foul water. But he didn't slow his pace.

"Good luck!" Owen's shout echoed.

Harry pulled the chin-strap of the helmet under his chin. Ordinarily, he would have relied on magic for light. But he didn't want to perform magic when there was a chance of a Muggle seeing.

Besides, the pricking of his senses told him he might be needing his wand as a weapon soon.

The water became shallower with every step and before he'd gone two hundred metres there was only a thin trickle running along the floor. His shoes squelched.

A jumble of wet footprints extended up the tunnel. At least three people had gone this way before. All the footprints turned into a side tunnel and Harry followed them.

The side tunnel was completely dry apart from the footprints. But it was scattered with debris that Harry recognised; rubbish that had washed down from the magical world above.

A broken wand, sparking erratically, lay on the ground near a crumbled mass of pages from an ancient Daily Prophet. The images no longer moved but glowed with a faint, white light. A loud clank in the darkness ahead made Harry jump and raise his wand. Nothing came out of the darkness, but the clank repeated itself. Edging forwards, the light from Harry's lamp fell on a cauldron with a broken leg, endlessly rolling onto its side and righting itself again.

Further down the side tunnel, he saw a tribe of Puffskeins, which had adapted to their new home underground. Their fur was grey and they made flatulent noises instead of their usual hum.

The footprints were drying up and getting harder to follow. Harry hesitated at a tunnel junction and wracked his brains for a tracking spell. Hermione was the expert at those. He scanned the walls and floors for clues that Draco had passed this way.

Then he saw the blood-stained footprints. He hadn't noticed them before because they were difficult to see against the red brick floor. Only their glisten betrayed them.

Something dripping blood, with far too many small, round feet, had turned into the tunnel on the left.

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. The darkness seemed to be closing in around him. It's not Draco's blood, he thought to himself. Definitely not Draco's. But he wasn't sure if he believed it.

He followed the blood-stained footprints with his wand raised.

The light from his lamp fell on a hideous, dark shape. His heart hammering in his chest, Harry edged forwards.

It was a Quintaped and it was dead. The shaggy monster lay on its back with its five legs pointing stiffly into the air. There was a freshly-killed pigeon in its mouth and the blood from the pigeon had run down its legs. Blood-stained footsteps led up to the body and then stopped. The monster had literally dropped down dead in its tracks.

Cautiously, Harry reached out and felt the Quintaped's side. It was still warm. It couldn't have died more than an hour ago.

But what had killed it? There wasn't a mark on the body. Harry remembered what Hagrid had taught him about Quintapeds. They were man-eating magical monsters from the Isle of Drear, with tough hides that could repel almost any spell. They were thought to be the Transfigured descendants of a Scottish family, the MacBoons. Somehow, the original Transfiguration spell had been so powerful that it had not only lasted the lifetime of the original victims, but had passed down through the generations for hundreds of years.

So the monster was actually a human being. Harry looked down at it, feeling an odd mixture of sorrow, pity and relief that it was dead. Quintapeds were one of the most savage and dangerous magical beasts. Even werewolves were afraid of them. Remus Lupin had been certain that Quintapeds were coming to get him and Tonks when he'd been Confounded by a Death Eater several days ago.

And now there were Quintapeds living in London, but even they were no match for the dark magic in these tunnels. What spell could have killed a powerful Quintaped instantly? Harry knew of only one - Avada Kedavra - and he knew whose favourite spell that was.

Voldemort's.

Swallowing back his own dread, Harry kept walking. He heard gasping breaths and realised that they were his own. His mind was a maze of fear and questions. Where was Draco? Was he still alive? Was another Quintaped, or Voldemort himself, about to crawl out of the shadows?

Then he heard the voice. It hissed in the shadows up ahead.

"Where are you?" The voice was almost sing-song. "I'm going to find you. I'm going to kill you."

Harry froze. Could Quintapeds talk? He remembered Hagrid saying that they couldn't.

"Kill you, it's only what you deserve," hissed the voice. Then came an odd chuckling or clucking sound from out of the darkness.

A chicken from hell? Harry gathered his courage. "Who's there?" he shouted.

Up ahead, a thin, tall figure scuttled into the light. It took a second glance for Harry to realise it was Draco. The Slytherin was doubled over, though the tunnel was much higher than his head. He moved nimbly and with complete confidence through the darkness, as though it was his native element, merely trailing a hand along the wall to keep track of where he was. There was something methodical about the way his head swung from side to side.

He's hunting, Harry thought. He's a predator.

"Find you... Kill you..." The voice was coming from Draco.

Harry couldn't make out his face in the darkness. "Draco, i-it's me," he heard himself stutter.

His heart clenched when there was no recognition. The hunched figure moved forwards.

"Stop!" Harry mustered a voice of command. Certain forms of dark magic could rub off. He couldn't allow Draco to touch him until he knew what was wrong. At the same time, he was desperate to reach out and touch the one he loved. How could he help him?

Draco didn't stop, but he slowed and straightened as he got closer and sheer horror froze Harry to the spot. The Slytherin's usually immaculate white-blond hair was straggling across his face and his eyes were blazing red.

Harry moaned slightly.

"Kill..." The hissing voice trailed off. Draco tipped his head on one side and peered at Harry curiously. He stepped forward and Harry backed away until he felt the curved wall of the tunnel press against his spine.

A fascinated smile spread over Draco's lips. He reached out a hand and trailed it, not quite touching, down the side of Harry's jaw, down his neck and chest.

Harry found that couldn't move a muscle. All he could do was focus on that wild, red-eyed face, his heart hammering in his chest.

The Draco frowned, not at Harry but at a thought that had seemed to strike him. He turned and whisked away. Harry watched him dart into the nearest tunnel mouth and once again heard the hiss, "Kill..."

Groaning, Harry doubled over and hugged himself. He was horrified at his own reaction. While facing Draco in that wild state, desire had welled up so fast that it was almost like pain. The beast in Harry's chest had met its counterpart in real life. He wanted to grab Draco and shag him right here in these tunnels. He was appalled that he could be so selfish, when Draco needed help.

"Going to find you!"

Harry shook himself. What was he thinking? Draco trying to kill somebody. Not himself, it appeared. But the Slytherin was obviously in terrible danger and so was the one he was hunting.

Gasping, Harry stood up and ran after Draco.

It was difficult to keep up. Though Draco had no light source, there was an unnatural surety in the way he moved through the total darkness, find obstacles by touch and dodging around them. His back appeared to be made of rubber and there was a recklessness to his movements that hadn't been there before.

"You cannot hide! I'm looking for you!" Draco had paused at another tunnel mouth and appeared to be sniffing.

"Who?" asked Harry, stopping by his side and catching his breath. Even though he realised Draco wasn't talking about him, it was still chilling.

In reply, Draco growled and the hairs rose on the back of Harry's neck. The Slytherin took off down the tunnel and Harry followed.

The air became pungent with hazy magical smells. Rivulets of discarded potions were running down the walls. Harry guessed that the potions shop was above their heads. He covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve so as not to breathe the fumes.

Then he choked, but it wasn't due to the fumes. Two dead men were lying on the floor. They were Muggles, dressed like Owen, in white overalls, helmets, waders and gloves.

Both men had open eyes and a look of horror forever frozen on their faces.

"H-Harry," Draco was at his side. His eyes were still red but he was back inside them.

Feeling his heart leap, Harry said, "Draco."

"What's going on?" The Slytherin swayed. "What happened to these Muggles?"

Kneeling down, Harry pressed his fingers into the necks of each Muggle in turn and remembered what Kingsley and Moody had taught him. "No pulse. They're cooling down. I think they've been dead at least an hour."

"There's not a mark on them," Draco was hugging himself and rocking. "Avada Kedavra, it has to be. There must be some Death Eaters still free."

"Or Voldemort." Harry reached over and closed the Muggle's eyes.

"It can't be. We saw Voldemort die last night."

"We thought we did," said Harry grimly. "What if he had another Horcrux?"

"That's impossible! Severus used Legilimency on him. He only saw six Horcruxes in Voldemort's mind and they were all destroyed!"

"I don't know who did this, Draco." Harry got to his feet and silently performed the Wingardium Leviosa spell. The two Muggles floated up above their heads. "But these tunnels are full of dark magic."

Draco clapped both hands to his mouth but there weren't enough to stop the animal hiss of fury escaping.

"What's wrong with you, Draco?"

"I don't know. I was so ANGRY all of a sudden. Nothing else seemed to matter because I knew HE was out there."

"Who?"

Draco made a sound halfway between a chuckle and a cluck. "Him! The one who has to die."

"Who is he?" Harry persisted.

Words seemed to fail Draco. "I don't know," he said, rocking himself. "He's terrible. I can't let him… I can't let him…" Abruptly, all the fear and confusion faded from Draco's eyes, as did Draco himself. "WHERE ARE YOU?" The hissing voice screamed. "COME HERE AT ONCE SO I CAN KILL YOU!"

The scream echoed down the tunnel and Harry felt something change. A visceral dread rose in his chest. HE had heard and HE was coming. Harry didn't know how he knew, maybe it was a whisper in the distance or a barely sensed flicker of consciousness. All he knew were that his instincts were screaming at him to flee. An evil beyond calculation was drawing near, terrifying yet horribly familiar. How often had he battled dark magic?

The tunnel walls seemed to be warping in around them. Harry blinked and the illusion disappeared. Beside him, Draco moaned.

"He's coming. Talk to me, Harry. I can't think. I'm so angry…"

Harry didn't know what to talk about. The sunlit world they had left only a few minutes ago seemed very far away, though it couldn't have been more than a few metres straight up. With dry lips, he said, "I'm looking forward to my engagement present. What are you getting me?"

"A four-poster bed," said Draco instantly. Then he blinked and slapped his own face. "Why did you ask me?" he said peevishly, suddenly sounding much more like himself. "It was meant to be a surprise! Nott is picking it up for me at Carve and Danish's in half an hour or so."

"Our own four-poster bed." Even in his current situation, the thought was enough to make Harry grin. "We're going to have fun with that."

"Aren't we? Oh…" Draco faded out of his own eyes. "Kill you! I'll kill you. Wait..." His eyebrows knitted together. "It's too soon."

"What?" Harry had been staring into the darkness, wand at the ready, but now he turned his head.

"It's too soon," the hissing voice insisted. "Not ready to face him yet, not ready." Draco shook his head and came back to himself. "What's that?" he asked, pointing.

Harry raised his head and the light from his lamp fell on a grey rat with a wand in its mouth. It turned and scampered back down the tunnel the moment the light fell on it. Harry's freezing spell struck sparks from the red brick where it had been standing and glaring at them.

"Get it!" Harry charged forwards.

Draco grabbed him by the arm. "Stop!"

"Let go! That rat was carrying a wand. It was an Animagus or possessed!"

"Don't follow it. HE is coming. If you follow that rat, you'll die. We have to go back!"

"I've fought dark magic a hundred times." Harry struggled in Draco's grip.

"I know, Harry. But you can't fight this. Don't ask me how I know but I've never been surer of anything in my life. If we stay here, we'll die. HE will kill us." Draco's eyes blazed red and his voice hissed. "Soon fight! Soon! Not ready!"

"We can't go back. What will we tell the Order? That we knew dark magic was coming and we ran before we saw it? We have to fight!"

But Draco wasn't listening. "He's here!" The hissing voice rose to a scream.

A rasping noise, like a cloak brushing along the dusty floor, was coming out of the shadows and there was movement. Harry aimed his wand.

"RUN!"

Something powerful knocked all the breath out of Harry. He was being carried back down the tunnel. The walls blurred with speed. He struggled and could only make out sprinting legs below him and the objects on the floor rushing past. He yelped as the dead Quintaped loomed up and he straightened so it wouldn't hit him on the face as he went past.

Draco was carrying him, without the slightest sign of strain or tiredness. Harry thrashed but the arms around him did not falter. The two dead Muggles were being towed along behind by Harry's spell and he had a horrible, close-up glimpse of their dead faces.

"Let go of me, Draco."

The Slytherin merely hissed. His strength and speed were impossible. Harry had wrestled him before and found that they were well-matched. But wrestling Draco now was like wrestling steel.

They were back in the first tunnel, where the water flowed, before Draco put Harry down. Immediately, Harry took a step back the way they had come and felt a hand close over his wrist. Not painful, but immovable.

"He's coming."

Harry knew Draco was telling the truth. Every instinct told him that the evil they had nearly faced was in hot pursuit. It would be here any moment. "I'll fight him-" he began.

"I love you."

Harry fell silent. The red eyes were looking at him, full of sadness and concern. He couldn't resist those eyes. Red as they were, they were Draco's. "Okay, we'll go back. We have to take care of the bodies anyway."

The water rose up their legs as they waded down the tunnel. Up ahead, where the light of day could just be seen, Harry heard a voice.

"Well, I'm not doing the paperwork. S'not my concern if people want to climb in. Maybe I should install some red velvet ropes? Line up over here, for Middle Level Sewer Number One. No shoving, it's an exclusive place. You only get down here if you're Number One. Maybe Number Two. Huh huh. Oh, bugger!"

Harry heard a splash, as if someone had kicked out at the water in frustration. Despite everything that had happened, he smiled. "Owen!" he said.

There was a splashing sound, as if Owen had reeled in shock. "Is that you two?"

"Yes." Now Harry could see the flusher. He was standing in a brilliant sunbeam at the base of the ladder, looking anxious.

"What took you so long?" Owen began, then yelped. He had seen his dead friends.

"I'm sorry, they'd been dead for an hour when we found them," said Harry. "The person who killed them is chasing us now."

Terrified, Owen pressed back against the ladder.

"Take your friends," Harry shuddered and knew that they only had a minute or so to talk. "Tell the police that you found them in the tunnels. They'd be overcome by poisonous gas or something. Don't go back down here again. Shut the manhole cover and don't tell the police about us."

"How did they die?"

"I'm investigating it," said Harry and knew right then that he'd never rest until he'd found the truth.

"You're some kind of copper?" asked Owen.

Harry thought of being an Auror. That was all he'd ever wanted to be. "Sort of," he said.

"Will you tell me what you find out?" asked Owen.

"How?"

In reply, Owen pulled a pad of paper and a pen out of one of his overall pockets and scrawled something. "This is my work number. Let me know," he said, stuffing the piece of paper into Harry's top pocket. Then he lifted his helmet off Harry's head and climbed up the ladder, drawing the bodies of his friends behind him. Harry released the levitation spell as he watched the flusher pull the bodies to safety.

Owen's head appeared in the manhole a moment later. "I'll put the cover on. How are you two going to get out?"

"Our own way," said Harry, not wanting to mention Apparition. The nameless evil was approaching and Harry could see the tunnel warping around them. He draped one arm around Draco, who was snarling at the darkness. "Ready to side-along?" he muttered in his fiance's ear.

Owen looked ill. "Right then," he said and his face disappeared. Then it reappeared. "Is this all because of those whore crotches?" Harry must have looked at him quizzically, because he withdrew his head. "Forget I mentioned them. Goodbye."

A moment later, there was a metallic clank and darkness fell.

OOoOoOo

_**Author Note:**__ I hope that was worth the wait. There's plenty more where that came from and shagging too! Please review, it's a great encouragement to write._


	5. Chapter 4: The Ring

_**Author Note:**__ So are Draco and Harry safe now? No… ;-)_

oOoOoOo

_**Chapter 4: The Ring**_

Minutes later, Harry and Draco sat in an examination room at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Healer Lobalug had just finished examining them. He had purple hair and Harry wondered if he was part Merperson. He certainly seemed tired enough to be a fish out of water.

"I can't find a single thing wrong with either of you," he said, collapsing back down on his chair and slipping his wand back into his lime-green robe.

"Draco was possessed. I'm certain of it," Harry insisted.

Healer Lobalug looked at him under heavy lids. "He has no symptoms of possession whatsoever, Mr Potter. Are you wasting my time? Your story about the tunnels under Diagon Alley sounded rather fishy."

You should know, Harry thought. But before he could speak, Draco piped up.

"You haven't looked at my biceps yet." The Slytherin flexed his arms.

The Healer looked. "There's nothing wrong with your biceps," he said.

"I know, aren't they gorgeous?" said the Slytherin cheerfully.

An undignified snort of laughter escaped Harry's mouth before he could stop it. "I can tell you're feeling better, Draco," he said.

The Healer rolled his yellow eyes.

"I feel fine," Draco said and he did look it. Harry had never seen him so full of energy. "Now I just need another cleaning spell."

"You've had fifty spells already. Each." The Healer rolled his eyes again. "Another cleaning spell and your feet will dissolve."

"I'll risk it, I can still smell something," said Draco.

There was a knock on the door.

"Enter," the Healer blinked and looked up.

Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin walked in and pushed the door shut behind them. Both were soaking wet with Muggle sewerage and the smell filled the tiny room.

Draco waved a greeting to them with one hand and held his nose with the other.

But Harry stepped forward. "You got my Patronus."

Remus nodded. "Yes, Harry. We found the Quintaped," he said, still looking shaken at the memory. "We saw where the Muggle bodies had been."

"But there's no sign of the dark magic you described," added Kingsley in his deep voice. "Can you tell me again what happened?"

Harry did so. He could see Healer Lobalug listening in.

"Unusual strength and red eyes," said Remus slowly, looking Draco up and down. "Sounds like a vampire."

Harry tensed. He'd been dreading those words.

"It was daylight outside," Kingsley pointed out. "Vampires aren't usually active during the day, even underground." He shook his head and went on. "The urge to hunt sounds like post-first-bite lycanthropy. You don't need a full moon for the first few months."

Now Harry felt really ill. "You think Draco is turning into a werewolf?" he asked.

"Impossible! I can't be a vampire or a werewolf. I haven't been bitten," said Draco. His face was turning brick red. "I was just ... angry. Really angry. That's all." He swung his legs under his chair and wriggled.

The Healer gave a cynical cough. "If there was anything actually wrong with Mr Malfoy, I wouldn't know what floor to send him. Spell Damage? Magical Diseases?"

"Voldemort?" suggested Harry quietly. Everyone stared at him. "The most powerful dark wizard in a thousand years died last night and today Draco has these symptoms. Could it be some sort of revenge that Voldemort implanted in all Death Eaters, just in case one killed him?"

Remus bit his bottom lip. "A wizard's spells usually fade after he dies-" he began.

"Some spells do last after death," said Harry. "If they didn't, that Quintaped would have been a Scottish man."

"Harry, intergenerational spells take an enormous amount of power," said Kingsley.

"Voldemort had power," Harry interrupted him.

"And they only happen once in a lifetime, if that, and generally without the conscious planning of the wizard or witch," Kingsley went on. "Vampirism or lycanthropy are the most likely explanations. Did Draco sprout hair when he was having his attack?"

Harry thought about it. "I didn't see any," he said slowly. "But it was dark and I wasn't really looking."

"There are NO symptoms," stated the Healer, in what he obviously thought was the voice of rationality. "Vampirism or lycanthropy don't just disappear. If Mr Malfoy was a vampire, he'd have an aversion to light." The Healer lit his wand and brought it near Draco's face. But the Slytherin didn't flinch, though he was still wriggling. "If he was a werewolf, he'd have the telltale pupil shape. He doesn't. I think you've had a little too much to drink and imagined things." The Healer scowled. "Like everyone else today. Now if you'll excuse me, I have hundreds more patients to attend to…"

oOoOoOo

While Remus and Kingsley were still cleaning themselves off in the Examination Room, Harry and Draco walked out into the waiting room hand-in-hand.

It was packed with wincing, steaming and occasionally screaming patients. Harry had never seen the room so full. He felt a bit guilty. The couple hadn't needed to wait. The receptionist had taken one look at the new Order of Merlin First Class badges and had allowed them to jump the queue. It was the first time Harry had been glad he'd had one.

A man near the counter was hopping about, pouring steam from every orifice.

"If you'll come into the examination room and bend over, I'll pull the bottle of Firewhiskey out," said a lime-green robed Healer.

The man followed, walking with his legs wide apart.

"I'll bet that wasn't an accident the bottle got stuck up there," Draco muttered. "I saw him checking me out."

A woman with so many pieces of fruit inserted into her face that she looked like a fruit salad bowl glared at them.

"We still don't know what happened to you, Draco," said Harry, avoiding her glare.

"I'm fine," Draco insisted. Then he paused. "Do you really think I could be…" He paused and muttered, "One of those things?"

"I don't think so," said Harry. A man with a green-dripping wound on one arm was sitting with a drooping head nearby. His face was as green as his arm. Magical bites were hard to ignore.

"What if it happened in my sleep?" said Draco, very softly. "I used to hear Fenrir Greyback prowling around all the time when I was a Death Eater. Maybe one night, I couldn't keep awake and he came in and..."

His hand squeezed Harry's. But though it hurt, Harry didn't mind. The magical strength Draco had had in the tunnels was gone.

Harry squeezed back and led Draco towards the double doors. "I doubt it. Remus used to talk about it all the time," he said. "It's one of the most painful things ever." He paused a moment. "That Healer wasn't much help."

"Busiest day for him in years, I imagine," said Draco, ducking under an arm that was stretched out like spaghetti. The woman who owned it was curled in a chair and looking very glum. "I bet he needs cheering up as much as I do."

Harry squeezed his hand again. "How about I buy you something?"

Draco spun around with a brilliant grin.

"Will that cheer you up?" Harry asked. He could already guess the answer and couldn't help grinning back.

Draco nodded enthusiastically.

"What would you like?" asked Harry.

Draco thought about it. Then he looked hopeful. "A ring!"

"Fine," said Harry.

Draco's eyes sparkled. "Really?" he blurted out.

"It's only fair. You're buying me a four-poster bed."

"Ooh! Yes, yes, yes, Harry!" Draco was practically dancing. Then he rushed forwards and gave his fiance a hug and a kiss. "I know just the place."

oOoOoOo

The place turned out to be called Mysterium's. Harry had seen the shop at the end of a short cul-de-sac off Diagon Alley but had never entered. Jewellery had never appealed to him and some kinds - Ron's ex-girlfriend's 'My Sweetheart' necklace sprang to mind - made him feel positively sick.

Mysterium's didn't look like the sort of place you could find a My Sweetheart necklace. The display in the window was understated and tasteful, but still managed to sparkle so much so that Harry found himself looking at the price tags in alarm. The rings seemed to range between fifty and a hundred galleons. Expensive, but nothing a man with a whole bank vault of galleons couldn't afford. Inwardly, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want to disappoint Draco.

Even the door jingle sounded expensive as they walked into the shop. Glass cases filled the room but they had a packed away and tidied look. There were hangers that should have contained necklaces, but only the rings were still on display. A bulging suitcase stood near the door.

The proprietor looked up from behind his counter as they entered. Though his expression was serious and in keeping with the rest of his shop, he was dressed as though about to go on a tropical holiday. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, patterned with waving palm trees in front of a technicolour sunset on a white beach. In true magical fashion, the palms swayed as though in a tropical breeze, waves rushed ashore and colourful parrots swooped in and out of the palm trees. Brilliant rays shone out of the red, sinking sun. The proprietor stepped out from behind the counter and Harry saw that the Hawaiian shirt was actually a Hawaiian robe. It ended just above his ankles, revealing leather sandals and socks.

"Good morning," said Harry. "Are you closing your shop?"

"My Portkey for Jamaica leaves in one hour," said the man. His voice was deep. "But I knew my presence would be required here. Good morning, Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy. I am Mr Mysterium and you are looking for a ring."

It wasn't a question. Harry frowned. "How do you know?"

"I know many things," said Mr Mysterium coldly. "We do not have much time. Mr Malfoy." He clapped his hands. "Choose!"

Draco didn't have to be told twice. He ran to the glass case with the rings and stared at them eagerly. "I should get you a ring too, Harry," he said.

"I don't wear rings," said Harry, with a thoughtful glance at Mr Mysterium.

"Why not?"

"They're dangerous. You can Summon a ring and take someone's finger off. You can put a heating spell on the ring and burn them. If you punch someone wearing a ring you can break your finger."

Draco cackled. "No Gryffindor would ever dare wear one!"

"Ha ha!" Harry gave Draco a nudge. "You fight too."

"Me?" Draco looked amused. "I'm a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor thug!" he teased.

"You fought Nagini and won," said Harry.

Draco fended him off Harry's tickling fingers with a grin. "Maybe I'm just good at fighting snakes? I think that was a fluke, Harry."

"That was an excellent bit of fighting!"

"I did it for Mother," Draco's face fell and he looked down sadly at the silver narcissus ring on his finger that he'd Transfigured from his mother's Inferi. She had been murdered by Bellatrix for refusing to kill Muggles.

Harry stopped tickling him and held him instead.

"I never knew I could lose a finger from wearing a ring," said Draco uncertainly. "Maybe I shouldn't-"

He was interrupted by a faint cough behind him. "Apologies for overhearing, but there _is_ a ring that cannot be used to harm its owner," said Mr Mysterium. "The Etruscan wedding ring. I have one here." He reached into the display, took out a ring and handed it to Harry, who was immediately lost for words.

It was the greenest, most ALIVE thing he'd ever seen. The ring was refreshing to look at it, like a drink of water on a hot day. It was made of green stone in the shape of tiny, green, leafy branches. Among the leaves were silver charms. Amazed, Harry turned the ring to see them all but there seemed to be more every time he looked.

"It's a ring of powerful protection," said Mr Mysterium softly.

The charms were moving. A tiny, silver fist waved sword. An exquisite rosebud opened and closed again. A snake coiled through the branches and out of sight. Another hand held a flaming heart, the silver flames leaping but not consuming. A crescent moon smiled serenely through the branches at an owl that resembled a silver Hedwig. A rooster crowed silently and a raven flapped silver wings. Then a dolphin leaped over a branch, sending up a silver splash.

The magic from the ring made Harry's fingers tingle. He had never felt anything so powerful. Looking up, Harry saw that Draco was even more riveted by the ring than he was. He held it out and Draco almost snatched it. He brought it straight to his mouth, kissing it and kissing it.

Harry turned to Mr Mysterium. "We'll have that one, please," he said.

"Very good, Mr Potter. Your Gringott's vault number?"

Harry told him. Just as he'd finished, the door jingled behind him and banged against the wall. He spun around.

"Harry!" It was Ron. He was wearing a new black t-shirt and he was out of breath. Luna, Hermione, Theodore and Pansy piled into the shop after him, all panting just like Ron. They looked like they'd run for their lives.

"Rita Skeeter knows you're here," said Ron.

"A patient at St Mungo's told her where you were going. I was talking with the other journalists and overheard." Luna was even more out of breath than the others. "I came to warn you straight away."

"Oh no!" Harry peered out the window of the shop. A horrifying sight met his eyes. Crabbe and Goyle were lumbering up the street, slow as usual. But just behind them was the whole pack of journalists, tearing at each other like wolves in their battle to be the first one through the door. Even worse, Professor Trelawney was hurrying along behind them, trailing scarves and looking even nuttier than usual.

There was no time to escape. Harry couldn't Apparate as that would mean leaving his friends behind. Crabbe and Goyle were rudely thrust aside as Rita Skeeter emerged triumphant from the pack and charged through the door.

"Harry Potter, why did you tie up Draco Malfoy last night in the Leaky Cauldron? Are you secretly torturing him?" asked Rita. Her long, acid-green Quick Quotes Quill flicked on her parchment.

"Get out!" Harry swiped at the quill and knocked it sideways.

Rita shrieked and grabbed for her quill but found herself being jostled aside by the rest of the journalists, who were forcing their way through the door. Mr Mysterium's shop was suddenly a scrum of shouting, fighting people.

"I won't answer your questions," shouted Harry above the hubbub. "Leave us alone!" He glanced at Draco. The Slytherin was standing by the counter with Mr Mysterium looking appalled.

"Oh dear," said Professor Trelawney. She was fanning herself with a Daily Prophet. "I feel a little faint. Could someone get me a glass of water?"

"Professor Trelawney, what are you doing here?" asked Harry.

"The spirits told me it was time, at long last, to leave Hogwarts and visit Diagon Alley," Professor Trelawney replied. Her eyes were hugely magnified and bloodshot behind her glasses. Harry caught a whiff of cooking sherry. "I always obey the spirits," she added and hiccupped.

"Harry Potter, Portly Roger here. Do you approve of the actions of Lucius Malfoy that led to his arrest at the Ministry?" A huge man wearing a tweed jacket and clutching a quill shoved Professor Trelawney aside.

"What kind of question is that?" Harry was furious.

"You will be marrying his son. So you must approve of a Death Eater who tried to murder a number of students in your year. Weren't those students your _friends_?" Portly leant forward with what he apparently thought was an ingratiating smile. His left canine was gold and far too pointy.

"How dare you?" Harry choked on the words. "I hate Lucius Malfoy."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Trelawney go rigid. Her eyes became unfocussed. Then she breathed in.

Harry spun around to face her, just as a horribly familiar, loud, harsh voice escaped her sagging mouth.

_"Your doom is at hand!"_

oOoOoOo

_**Author Note:**__ Please review! Or I don't know what will happen! ;-)_


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